“Henry was on the floor, laughing. He did it on purpose.” Suzi Quatro thought she’d blown her first big scene on the TV hit ‘Happy Days.’ Then she saw Henry Winkler backstage
The rocker had never acted before when Winkler played a prank in front of a studio audience, just moments ahead of her debut as Leather Tuscadero.
Suzi Quatro didn’t become a star in America by having a hit record. The Detroit-born bass guitarist found fame playing a version of herself on one of the biggest TV sitcoms of the 1970s: Happy Days.
By then she’d become a star in Britain and Europe, scoring hits with songs like “Can the Can,” “48 Crash” and “Devil Gate Drive.” As the leather-clad leader of her own band, she’d helped blaze a trail for women in rock years before acts like Heart and the Runaways broke through.
Acting, however, was another matter. Quatro was completely green when she received an unexpected invitation to audition for Happy Days. The role would eventually make her familiar to millions of U.S. viewers as Leather Tuscadero, but when she first arrived on set in 1977, she was a musician stepping into an entirely different world.
And, despite years of experience performing live, she was nervous.
“I was touring Japan when I got a call from my agent asking would I like to audition for Happy Days,” Quatro told Louder. “I didn’t know the show, but he said, ‘Believe me, you’ll want to do this.’”
The audition itself seemed almost preordained.
“I’d never acted before. I was wearing my ‘street leathers,’ a jacket and pants, different to my stage outfits. The producer, Gary Marshall, said, ‘Oh, very clever of you to dress in the part.’ I said, ‘What do you mean?’ He said, ‘The character is called Leather Tuscadero.’”
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Quatro got the job and went on to appear on the show from 1977 through 1979. But before she could become one of Happy Days’ most memorable recurring characters, she had to survive her first appearance in front of a live studio audience.
“I’d done the rehearsals, but this was in front of a live audience,” she recalled. “Henry Winkler, as Fonzie, came up to me and said, ‘How you doing? Okay?’”
Quatro admitted she wasn’t entirely comfortable.
“I said, ‘Henry, I gotta tell you, I’m a little bit nervous.’ He said, ‘I’ve watched your rehearsal. You’re gonna kill it. Go — you’re on.’”
Reassured, Quatro headed out for her entrance.
“So I walked out, doing my Leather Tuscadero saunter, thinking, ‘I got this.’ I got to my mark and went to speak, but the director said, ‘Excuse me, Miss Quatro. What are you doing here?’”
The comment left her stunned.
“It was like somebody threw water in my face. I said, ‘That was my entrance.’ He said, ‘No, you’ve got another page yet.’”
Certain she’d blown her first scene, Quatro retreated backstage — only to discover she’d been the victim of a practical joke.
“I walked back, and Henry was on the floor, laughing. He did it on purpose.”
Winkler’s prank, it turned out, wasn’t meant to embarrass her. It was meant to relax her.
“He said to me, ‘Now nothing more can go wrong. Go out and enjoy yourself.’”
The advice worked.
“That took my nerves away. And when I came out again the applause was huge.”
These days, Quatro is still making music. The bassist and singer released her latest album, Freedom, in 2026 and remains an active touring artist at 75, nearly six decades after she first picked up the instrument that made her famous.
Elizabeth Swann is a devoted follower of prog-folk and has reported on the scene from far-flung places around the globe for Prog, Wired and Popular Mechanics She treasures her collection of rare live Bert Jansch and John Renbourn reel-to-reel recordings and souvenir teaspoons collected from her travels through the Appalachians. When she’s not leaning over her Stella 12-string acoustic, she’s probably bent over her workbench with a soldering iron, modding gear.
